Fragile Spirit
by Professor's Aid
Summary: Here's a half-way decent sized chapter for you guys because you're so patient. NOT A ROMANCE. Flame me if you must, but I might cry.
1. A Visitor

Professor Utonium cocked his head to one side at the sudden and persistent knocking at the door. "Now, who could that be?" It was 8:15, and he had only just put his girls to bed. He walked to the door in a rush so as not to keep whoever it was waiting. "Yes, can I help you?" He couldn't have possibly been prepared for what he saw.

A man stood there. He looked to be about his mid forties, and his chestnut brown hair that was combed to one side had just a touch of grey. Tired eyes looked to the Professor behind wiry glasses. The man, however, was not what the Professor found to be most startling, for in his arms, he held a small, sleeping child of about four and a half years old. Although he hadn't seen her in three years, there was no doubt in his mind who she was.

"Lizzie?" He whispered in a daze.

Relief spread quickly across the strange man's face. "Oh, thank goodness! You remember! Well, that simplifies things! However," he added as the Professor opened his mouth to pour out a flood of questions, "I really haven't the foggiest clue as far as the details of this matter. This letter," he said, producing an envelope, can tell you much more than I could, I'm sure of it."

The Professor took the envelope, and let the man place the small girl gently in his arms so as not to wake her. "Let her rest," the man recommended. "From what I've heard, she could use it." He turned and proceeded down the front walk to his car. The Professor closed the door.


	2. An Expanation

**Author's note:** _Sorry it took me so insanely long to update this story. I wanted to do some careful planning to avoid writing myself into a corner. Hopefully, it won't take me so long next time._

The Professor turned around, startled by a sudden noise. The Girls were coming. He hastily shoved the letter into his pocket; if the news was upsetting, he didn't want the Girls to know about it just yet.

Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup burst into the living room. "Professor?" Blossom called franticly.

"Hush!" the Professor whispered, indicating the sleeping girl in his arms. "Wait here." The Girls floated down to the couch obediently. "I'll take her to the guest room; then we'll talk."

He gently laid Lizzie down on the guest bed. "My, you've grown," he thought fondly as he stroked her golden hair that had been tamed back into a ponytail. Then, the Professor turned his attention to her black shoes, and, since they didn't look at all comfortable to sleep in, he carefully removed them.

"Mama?" The child stirred, slightly, and the Professor jumped. He wasn't ready for her to wake up yet!

Luckily, she didn't persist. "She must've been talking in her sleep," The Professor breathed a sigh of relief. He'd better go.

The Girls looked up at him expectantly upon his return. "Who was that?" Bubbles voiced the question.

"Elizabeth… Lizzie, rather," The Professor corrected himself, remembering how the small child had always preferred the nickname. Gathering the Girls in his lap, he sat down on the couch. "I'm friends with Anne and Scott… -er, her parents," he amended. "Ooh, in fact, I have a picture!

The Professor opened the bottom drawer of a desk near the couch and pulled out a photo album. Purposefully, he began leafing though the pages. "Ah, here it is."

The Girls leaned in for a closer look. The photograph was of a man and a woman with a girl who looked to be about two years old. The man, who must have been Scott, had bright red hair, and the woman, Anne, was blonde. They were both wearing lab coats.

Buttercup smirked, "Wow, Professor, they're nerds just like you!"

"Buttercup!" Blossom gave her a hard nudge in the ribs, but the Professor just chuckled.

Bubbles, however, continued to stare at the picture with a look of concern. "Professor?" she piped up finally, "Why are they so sad?"

Buttercup rolled her eyes, "They're not sad, they're smiling, Bubble-brain!"

"The baby's crying!" Bubbles retaliated defensively.

"Duh! Babies cry!"

"They're eyes are sad!"

"That's stupid!"

"Ahem!" the Professor cleared his throat. "That's a picture from the day I left and moved here to Townsville. It's quite a distance, so I haven't seen them since." He suddenly began to flip pages again.

"What's wrong?" Blossom asked.

"Oh, nothing, really. I just wanted to show you the letter Scott sent me a few days after I moved in. It would've explained a lot, but I just can't seem to… Oh, well." He closed the book. "I'll find it later; you Girls better get to bed, now." He gathered them up and brought them upstairs to their room.

"Professor?" Blossom asked, "If we live so far away, why did they bring Lizzie here?"

"I'm her Godfather." Professor Utonium leaned over and gave each girl a kiss on the forehead. "Good night, Girls." Then, he left the room, leaving the door open slightly.


	3. Unanswered Questions

"The letter!" Professor Utonium stopped at the top of the stairs to dig out the note that had been given to him earlier, but he suddenly heard a wimper. "Oh, no," he thought as he rushed into the guest room.

She was sitting up in the bed shivering from head to toe. "W-w-who's there?" the child wimpered again, clearly frightened.

"It's all right, honey," the Professor said consolingly as he sat down beside her, "Though, I don't suppose you remember-"

"Professor!" Lizzie was in his arms before he could finish.

"Or, maybe you do." The dull pang of nasalgia brought tears to his eyes as he held her, but he tried to focus on the current situation. There were so many things he needed to know; what happened? Where were Anne and Scott? Were they all right? And just who was that man who had brought her here, anyway? But before he could ask, he noticed Lizzie was shivering. "You don't have to be scared, Lizz, I won't let anything happen to you."

"I'm cold," she explained with a slight cough.

"You don't sound well at all," the Professor laid a hand gently on her forehead, "and you're burning up! I'd better let you rest."

He didn't meet protest as he tucked her back into bed, and she was asleep again before he closed the door.

"Poor thing." The Professor shook his head and finally withdrew the note from his pocket. The news, he knew, couldn't be good, and for a moment, he considered waiting until morning.

Reduculous, he decided, and opened the note. 


	4. The Letter and a Promise not Forgotten

It was rather messy in a way that made him uneasy, although he wouldn't have been able to explain why. It was also succinct, and read:

'Utonium,

Scott and Anne Xenon are being hospitolized after a motor vehicle accident. The cause is unknown. Their daughter was not harmed during the incident; however, her parents are comatose. Seeing as they cannot care for their child at this time, guardianship falls to you. She is under your protection.'

Upon finishing the letter, the Professor found himself in a state of intense shock that made his legs weak. Luckily, he found himself in the living room and sought refuge on the couch.

As the initial shock wore off, however, the Professor realized that several things about the letter bothered him.

First of all, there was no number to offering to have questions and concerns addressed. "It's as if they don't want me to have any more information." He frowned indignantly. No one had bothered to even sign the note; why not? Was the writer hiding something? He rolled his eyes as he re-read the last line:

'She is under your protection.'

As if he didn't know. He even found himself becomming annoyed at having been addressed as simply 'Utonium', the way his old college roomate always had.

The Professor let his emotions run wild inside him for a few minutes before taking a deep breath, numbing himself to the chaos. He couldn't think straight if he allowed himself to become petulant and paranoid.

He knew why. He knew the reason for his current lack of knowledge. Anne and Scott were like this. They had warned him the day they asked him to act as Lizzie's godfather. He remembered Anne's words as if it was only yesterday:

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'Don't let what has happened to us distract you. Lizzie will need you more than ever if anything was ever to keep her from our care.'

'I understand,' The Professor remembered himself replying, but Anne hadn't seemed convinced.

'Promise me,' she had taken his hands into hers, 'Promise me that you won't take any action to avenge us, or to find the culprit...' she had trailed off.

The Professor had become very concerned, 'Avenge? Culprit? What do you mean? Are you and Scott in some sort of danger?'

Anne had shooken her head, 'You never know what the future will bring...' she looked deeply troubled for a moment before perking back up, and the familiar light shone in her eyes. 'Don't change the subject.' She smiled, dropping his hands. 'Promise, me, please.'

'I promise.'

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It was their wish not to be his concern. Lizzie always came first, just like his Girls always came first.

"As their friend, I must respect their wishes."

He hated himself for saying it. He wasn't going to check up on his best friends? Even though he knew it was what they would want, he felt horrible. 


	5. Meet the Girls

The Professor went back to the guest room on tip-toe. He thought that he should give Lizzie a fever-reducer, but when he touched her forehead with the back of his hand, she no longer seemed feverish.

The Professor was puzzled; he had never known a fever to subside so quickly. He simply must've been mistaken earlier. At least he didn't have to wake her.

Trudging back to the living room, the Professor suddenly became aware of how tired he was. Stress did that to him; he needed some rest. The couch seemed like a convenient spot for Lizzie to find him if she woke up again, so he settled down.

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The last thing he remembered when he woke up the next morning was taking off his shoes, which meant that he had fallen asleep very quickly. Pale slivers of early-morning sunshine set painted on the floor as the Professor squinted at the clock:

6:12. Might as well get up.

He checked on Lizzie first, then his Girls, then drifted to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Finally, he sat down at the table, massaging his forehead anxiously.

"Are you okay, Professor?" came a concerned voice.

"Good morning, Bubbles," the Professer smiled weakly, looking up at his blue-clad daughter. "Yes, I'm all right; it's just a bit of a headache." He pulled her into a hug.

"Okay," Bubbles replied, satisfied with the explanation. "Octi was just worried, weren't you, Octi?" She said, cuddling her stuffed octopus.

The Professor chuckled. "Well, Octi is very sweet," he said, giving Bubbles a kiss on the forehead. "Now, would you like some cereal?"

"Uh, huh!" In a flash, Bubbles had retrieved the cereal and a bowl from two separate cupboards, a spoon from a drawer, and the milk from the fridge.

"Is Lizzie still sleeping?" she asked conversationally as she dug into her breakfast.

The Professor nodded. "I think it would be best for us not to wake her; she didn't seem well last night."

A sudden flash of pink and green streaked through the room making the Professor blink. "Good morning, Blossom, Buttercup," he greeted his daughters.

"Good morning, Professor," the newcomers chimed.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, the Professor joined the girls at the table for breakfast.

A few minutes passed. Bubbles told them all about a dream she'd had about swimming with farm animals, and when she'd finished, she glanced toward the door. Her eyes lit up. "She's awake, Professor!" Lizzie was standing in the doorway looking helplessly nervous.

"Good morning, Lizzie," the Professor greeted her cheerfully, "Come over and have some breakfast." He offered her the chair next to him, and the small girl came over, not meeting anyone's eyes, and sat down.

The Professor placed a bowl of cereal in front of her and gave his Girls a meaningful look. Blossom realized that the three of them had been staring and gave the sister on either side of her a nudge in the ribs, and the three became very preoccupied with their bowls.

"Are you feeling any better this morning?" the Professor asked conversationally, trying to wave the awkwardness in the room aside. Lizzie nodded. "Oh," the Professor added, "and these are my Girls; that's Bubbles in the blue, Blossom in the pink, and Buttercup in the green."

"Hi!" the Girls chorused, hopful that they could break the ice.

"We're the Powerpuff Girls!" Bubbles said excitedly. "We fight bad guys and monsters with our super powers! See?" She and the other Girls floated out of their chairs.

Lizzie nodded again. The Professor frowned. The poor girl seemed to want nothing more than to disappear.

After a few minutes more of silence, Buttercup finished her cereal. In her haste to leave the awkward situation, she bumped the table, causing the salt and pepper shakers to fall over. The tops of the shakers fell off on impact with the table, and their contents flew in Lizzie's direction, landing in her bowl and on the table in front of her.

"Buttercup!" Blossom groaned.

"I-I-I'm sorry! Buttercup babbled.

The Professor looked down at Lizzie with concern as she hastily picked up a napkin and her eyes filled with tears. He was sure that the situation had finally overwhelmed her, and she was going to cry. She sniffled, then coughed, then...

"Ah! Ah-choo!" she sneezed.

"Gesundheit!" the professor smiled kindly as he swept the spilled contents of the shakers into the bowl and set it in the sink.

"Thanks," Lizzie muttered, blushing at the attention her sudden outburst had gotten her.

Buttercup zoomed off to the Girls' room, and Bubbles excused herself and went to play with Octi. In the living room. Blossom, feeling it would be impolite to run off, stayed behind.

"Are you still hungry, Lizz?" the Professor asked. Lizzie shook her head. "well, then, I'll get after these dishes," he said. "You can stay and talk," he added, picking Lizzie up and setting her on the counter by the sink. Blossom offered to wash, and started the water.

Lizzie was still blushing, and the Professor chuckled. "You're as timid as ever; I see that some things never change." He patted her head, stirring up some of the leftover pepper, causing Blossom and Lizzie to sneeze simultaneously.

"Gesund..." he began, but felt a tickle in the back of his throat. "Atchoo!" He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. "All right. Let's finish these dishes and get out of here.

The Professor turned to the sink to wash his hands, but noticed something very strange about the water in the sink; it had been frozen!

"Blossom, you must've frozen the water accidentally when you sneezed." He looked concernedly at Blossom.

"Gee, I didn't think I did..." Blossom looked puzzled.

"But, I've never seen you spit ice when you sneeze. Fire, sometimes, but never ice. Are you coming down with a cold?" He touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

"I feel fine, Professor," Blossom assured him.

"Hmm. Well, you don't seem feverish, but I'd better keep an eye on you anyway- Lizzie? Are you all right, honey?"

Lizzie was shivering feverishly to the Professor's alarm. "All of the sudden, it was so cold, and now it's so hot," Lizzie whimpered.

The Professor picked her up and cradled her in his arms. "I thought you were feeling better. You're much sicker than I thought." He carried her to the guest room bed and tucked her in, but she sat up immediatly and started to cough and sneeze.

"That's it, I'm taking you to the doctor," the Professor said. He held the poor girl until she fell asleep. 


	6. A Tale and a Confession

The Professor watched anxiously as the doctor checked Lizzie's temperature. "So she just showed up on your doorstep?" the doctor conversed the way doctors do- as if having simply been met at the grocery store.

"Well, not exactly," the Professor tried to indicate that he didn't want to continue on the subject; he was still uneasy about not looking further into the incident that led his goddaughter to his home the night before. It seemed to work, because the doctor didn't ask for details.

"Well, she certainly has a bit of a fever," the doctor decided as he took the thermometer out of Lizzie's mouth, "101.3 degrees. Poor thing." Lizzie looked extremely uneasy at the doctor's concern and looked up at the Professor for reassurance. "It's not dangerously high," the doctor added, sensing the young girl's apprehensiveness. He placed his stethoscope on her back and listened to her breathing. "Doesn't sound like pneumonia," he said more to himself than anyone else. Continuing his examination, he took a tongue depresser out of a jar by the sink. "Let's have a look at your throat, shall we? Say 'ah'."

The small girl tried to comply, "Ah... Ah-choo!"

The doctor couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, well, just 'ah' will be fine."

After having checking Lizzie's throat, the doctor straightened up to face the Professor. "Nothing serious, I'd say. She's got a bad cold, or maybe the flu. It will run it's course in a few days. Until then, you should have her take it easy."

The Professor nodded. "Thank you, Doctor," he said as he helped Lizzie off the examining table. He was surprised to see her walk ahead of him out of the office as if determined to leave as soon as possible, she paused only when she go to the front door. Puzzled, the Professor watched her from behind as she seemed to thinking very hard about something. Whatever it was, she looked frustrated, almost as if she wanted to go through the door, but couldn't figure out how.

The Professor, deciding that she must be exhausted, picked Lizzie up and carried her to the car. Opening the door, he placed her in the back seat, then he got behind the wheel. "Don't forget to buckle up," he reminded her and turned around when he got no answer to see why she didn't comply.

She sat, already buckled, with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed. "Is something wrong, sweetheart?" the Professor asked nervously. Lizzie just shook her head and didn't make eye contact. Unsure of what to do, the Professor started the car and drove them home.

"Girls, we're back!" the Professor called as he and Lizzie entered through the front door. No answer.

Wandering to the kitchen, the Professor found a note that had been hastily scribbled on a post-it square:

Professor,  
The Mayor called; we went to stop a bank-robbery.

Love,

Blossom, Bubbles, Buttercup

"It's all right, they just went to save the day," the Professor stated, more for his own benefit than Lizzie's.

Lizzie.

They were alone; what better time to ask her about the accident?

He looked at her. Would talking about it upset her? He hadn't really payed attention to how all of this had to be affecting the poor girl; after all, her parents were in the hospital. Upsetting or not, she needed to talk about it, he decided.

"Lizzie?" The child looked up, sensing the apprehension in her caretaker's voice. "I think we need to talk."

Once he got her seated on the couch in the living room, the Professor felt it was best to be straight-forward with her. "Honey," he began, not quite sure how to ask, "can you tell me anything about the accident?"

He held his breath as he waited for her to respond.

Obviously shaken, Lizzie swallowed hard, but began to tell the story:

"I... Well, that is... I don't remember much about the crash..." she started slowly. "I do remember that morning; Dad said we were going somewhere... I was in my room after I had just gotten dressed. Then... I think I fell asleep. I don't even remember getting in the car..." She looked spooked, as if she only suddenly realized her own lack of knowledge.

"Do you remember anything else before you got here?" the Professor suggested.

"I woke up," Lizzie looked as if she was having a hard time remembering. "There was a man there- a lot of people, actually. All of them were in white coats."

"Doctors?" the Professor guessed.

"I think so. The one man, he had yellow hair, he told me that the car crashed and my Mom and Dad were in the hospital, but he wouldn't let the other people talk to me. Then..." she paused, the next part was obviously upsetting, "he had to give me a shot."

"A shot? Perhaps a tranquilizer, to put you to sleep?"

"Well, I don't remember anything else," she looked bothered somehow.

"There's something else, isn't there?" the Professor sensed her unrest.

Lizzie looked ashamed, "It's just... I know that the man saved me, but..."

"Go on."

"There was just something about him... I didn't like him," Lizzie finished. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at the Professor. "He didn't do anything bad to me, but I felt like he was... bad somehow... Like, he did bad things." She sniffled, "But I didn't know him. I didn't have any reason to think that. I think... I think that makes me a bad person," she confessed.

"Oh, honey!" The Professor pulled her into a hug. "You are not a bad person. You were just confused when you woke up in a strange place. The things you felt and thought were just your brain responding to stress; none of it was your fault at all!" He took tissue from a box an the coffee table and dried her eyes.

"Do you really think so?" Lizzie sniffled again.

"Absolutely," the Professor assured her.

They were quite for a few minutes. He held her in his lap, and she fidgeted with her hands.

"I'm scared," she broke the silence, suddenly, "What if my parents never wake up?"

"I don't think you should worry about that now; the doctors know what they're doing."

This didn't seem to ease her thoughts any.

"Tell you what," he smoothed her hair gently, "If we don't hear anything from them in two weeks," he held up two fingers for emphasis, "I'll find out exactly where they are and we'll talk to the doctors, okay?"

"Okay," Lizzie whispered.

"Please don't worry," the Professor found himself pleading, "They wouldn't want that." To change the subject, he looked up at the clock. "Is it that time already? I ought to be making dinner; the Girls will be hungry when they get home."


End file.
